At The Table
by Joanna M.
Weston
the boy in the
green t-shirt
spills a grin over the table
salts it with forked teeth
then tilts pepper and lime
onto a fry-laden plate
to share with the girl
who leans poplar thin
against Dean’s poster
from mid-west years
when dust blew through town
on Dorothy’s swirled wind
though these are no witches
not dogs or scarecrows
but harbingers of change
low-slung hair and baggy
pockets full of paper coin
for giving to the idle rich |
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